


i'll listen from afar. || a woosan fanfic

by renfraxitive



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Choi San, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idol Jung Wooyoung, Idols, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealousy, K-pop References, Love Triangles, M/M, Mentioned Other K-pop Artist(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prosopagnosia, Romantic Fluff, Social Anxiety, am i doing tags right ;-;
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renfraxitive/pseuds/renfraxitive
Summary: Jung Wooyoung was one of the highest performing, highest selling soloists in Korea. Successful, handsome, but empty.And Choi San: a college dropout and drunk with the inability to recognize the faces of those around him. He has nothing but himself and his paintings.Warnings: Contains themes of mild swearing, drinking.
Relationships: Choi San & Jung Wooyoung, Choi San & Park Seonghwa, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Park Seonghwa
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

"Thank you all for coming, everyone." Wooyoung's lips curl up into the brightest of smiles as he bows, the crowd erupting into mixed emotions: sobbing, applauding, cheering. He can see a few hysterical girls crying in the front row when he straightens, keeping the grin plastered to his face as he waves to the audience. And as he leaves the stage, leaving behind his fans, this city...

The smile melts off of his face in a quick instant once he's out of view. He quickly takes the water bottle and hand towel offered to him, dabbing at the sweat beading on his forehead. "Call my manager. Now."

If his staff had to describe him, it'd be arrogant. Not overwhelmingly aggressive or disrespectful, but ill-mannered - especially when you consider his somewhat reclusive nature. Straightforward, abrasive... It was startling how fast he could switch between personas.

Fame was something that he no longer enjoyed, as it was for most idols in Korea. But damn, he thought he would be able to hold out for at least a few years after his debut. It was his second year and he already loathed the tours that his manager had dragged him through.

Being the top-selling soloist in Korea had its disadvantages, he supposed.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Far from the concert was a small apartment building, sandwiched between two brick buildings in the outskirts of the city. A modest hole in the wall, sure, but it was clear that its resident had done the best he could with the place. Several strings of lights hung around the walls in elegant curves, casting a soft yellow glow around the room.

And in the center, with smears paint staining his fingers, was Choi San. He'd fallen asleep while painting, the brush still clutched in his hand as soft, steady breaths leave his mouth. 

The composition he was working on was crafted from elaborate swirls of carefully thought out shades, forming dim figures within the canvas. It was almost as if one could touch their skin, the folds of their clothes. But one thing marred the illusion of realism: the portrait's faces were absent, features fading together in an indecipherable, clumsy mess of obscurity. One might say that it was a brave artistic choice, a style that perfectly captures the constant theme of void in San's work.

But he knew otherwise, even when he did accept the compliments at his galleries with the most gracious of smiles. It was always his father's words that came to him in those moments:

How can you paint something that you cannot hope to view?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Prosopagnosia: a neurological condition characterized by the inability to recognize the faces of familiar people.


	2. { 𝐨𝐧𝐞. }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, ren again!  
> i'm not sure when updates will be because i'm very busy with schoolwork but i'll try to go for once every one-two weeks. thanks for your patience :)

His voice was on the radio again. It was almost familiar to San at this point: the carefully composed lyrics, clear vowels and pronunciation...

So beautiful, yet so delicate at the same time. The painter picks at some stained color on his fingers, deep in thought, as the song comes to an end.

_And that was Jung Wooyoung, Korea's #1 rising soloist._

Of course it was. A small smile ghosts his face as he returns his attention to the painting, dark eyes roaming across the empty, unfinished faces. Pop culture was never something that interested him, but he _did_ appreciate a few voices he heard: Jung Wooyoung being one of them. He even had the motivation to search for a few interviews, a little surprised at how eloquent and thoughtful the idol approached questions - it was different than any other celebrity he'd seen, and it was no surprise how quickly his fanbase was growing.

But he had more pressing things to worry about, one of them being the gallery that he was expected to attend a week from now. It was supposed to be a stepping stone for rising artists, giving enough coverage to launch their career; the only problem was that he had no idea which painting to present.

Someone like San, who struggled with even maintaining eye contact without being anxious, was not suited for such an environment - especially with one that required each artist to take an interview at the end of it. But what other choice did he have?

A sigh escaping his lips, he pushes out the chair to head to the kitchen. Cleaning his hands off, letting the paint stain the water, he dries it on his shirt as he looks over at his shopping list hung on the refrigerator. Various bullet points were crammed on the cheaply made paper, the consequence of avoiding the outdoors for a week.

He supposed he wouldn't be able to get any work done today as it was. Taking the paper, unclipping it from the magnet, he tucks it into his shirt pocket as he heads towards the door.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Wooyoung supposed he did look a bit suspicious. A black mask covered half of his face, a dark baseball cap drawn low over his eyes... it was a prerequisite just to let him walk alone on the streets - and there was reluctance there, even then.

It was his final concert in the Asia part of his tour tonight. Tokyo, Osaka, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Manila, and finally Seoul. He'd receive a week-long break after this, quickly flying to the States afterward to finish the last leg of it. All he needed to do was to get through tonight.

Reaching a fairly empty portion of the city, lying more on the outskirts, he gently tugs down his mask so that it hugs underneath his chin. As much as he wanted to avoid fan interactions, the entire disguise was a bit ridiculous - especially when considering the rather hot temperature. Summer was fast approaching, and the numbers were only climbing on his weather app.

His thoughts were interrupted by a single can of tomato soup, rolling from the apartment building - halting his tracks abruptly. He pauses for a moment before looking at the source, a young man who was struggling to hold his grocery-filled bags. Picking up the can, he contemplates his choices for a moment before jogging towards him; it was always to good do such good deeds, just in case a public eye was watching. Reputation was a delicate, delicate thing, and something that he was in no mood of risking. "You dropped this."

The man blinks, stunned eyes searching him, and Wooyoung wonders if he would be recognized for a brief moment. "Thanks, I didn't even notice..." He tucks the cans of soup into their rightful place before inclining his head in a slight bow, radiating somewhat nervous energy - not asking for a signature or replying with the irritating phrase that he's heard too many times before: "Oh, are you _the_ Jung Wooyoung?"

"You..." The other's sharp features narrow in deep concentration, glancing over at him again - as if the other's name was right there, at the tip of his tongue. His frustration was evident. "You seem familiar. Have we met-?"

He spoke too soon. Wooyoung is quick to respond, quickly shutting down the thought while also encouraging it - he's always been good at that. "I was thinking the exact same thing. What's your name?"

"Choi San."

"Ah, that's where it's from.." Quick, clever eyes glance over at him - at the paint-stained hands, the thin, worn paintbrush sticking from the front pocket of his shirt. The brush was small to be a construction worker but large enough to be...

"Are you an artist by any chance?"

 _Bingo_. He feels a slight sense of satisfaction as San's face lights up at the mention of it, nodding twice - rather enthusiastically. Not a famous one, then - it looks like this was his first time meeting someone who saw his work. "I didn't know you were a fan."

"I'm not, but I've seen your work a few times." The lie slips out of his mouth effortlessly, an easygoing smile resting on his face. It was strange, seeing someone who didn't recognize him - but it might not be for long before San recognizes who he is. "But in any case, I'm a bit busy. I should go, it was lovely meeting you."

"Wait-" San fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a rather neatly designed card and quickly offering it to Wooyoung before he has the opportunity to turn away. "If you really want to come, then I'd be happy to see you."

The idol is in no position to reject it, especially when San's hand was trembling enough for it to be considered a medical issue. The artist seemed to be a conflicting blend of extroverted and introverted, outgoing and reclusive... it was clear he was making an effort though. Taking the card, he reads it over: it advertised San's showcase in seven days. How convenient - it lined up with his stay in Seoul.

"I'll check my schedule." It wasn't a complete rejection, but it was far from a guarantee either. Pocketing the card, he inclines his head as a goodbye before jogging down the stairs and the street without looking back. He was gone before San could even reply.

The artist stared after him, still holding the can of soup that the stranger offered him in his other hand - trying to figure where he's _seen_ him before. He seemed so familiar, his voice, his mannerisms... 

And he still didn't know his name. 


	3. {𝐭𝐰𝐨 }

The final show.

He was sitting in the room backstage, letting the quiet roar of the crowd fade into the back of his mind. Nervousness was something that he had left far behind during his training days, or perhaps even earlier. Memories had started to surface from the gentle lull of the guitar strings, settling into their rightful place as he tuned them - either tightening or loosening accordingly.

_He resisted the urge to shove his hands into his sweater pockets as the music started to play, a slow ballad piece that he was all too familiar with. The song was the only thing he could think of for weeks, the man's dark tone flirting, dancing with the melody in a haunting tone; unique, far from known, and the piece that he instantly knew he would perform._

_His hands were shaking as he opened his mouth, mentally humming the opening note in his mind..._

_And then he began to sing._

_The judges, the camera in front of him, all faded to the back of his mind. Even with his eyes open, he couldn't see them; his focus was on the music, and the music entirely. The path was already paved for him, and all he needed to do was follow the intricate map of notes that he had practiced nights earlier._

_The music swelled into a crescendo, a labyrinthine composition of harmony, of overlapping notes and vibrant, clear runs-_

"Wooyoung. _Jung Wooyoung-"_

Someone knocks on the door, their knocking growing more and more persistent - from the frantic pace, they'd been at this for a while.

"Wooyoung, you absolute fool." The only one who would call him that was his manager, Kim Hongjoong. A small man with bright, fiery red hair and an even more scorching tongue, quick-witted, organized, and aggressive in promotions - everything a good manager should be.

That also meant that he could be a royal pain in the ass.

Wooyoung sighs, sitting back in his chair to fine-tune the last string. "I'll be out soon, Hongjoong."

"Five minutes or I swear to god, I'll kick down the door and drag you out myself. Those fans won't wait forever."

_"I'll be out soon."_

There's a brief moment of silence, Hongjoong perhaps registering the raw venom in Wooyoung's voice, before he leaves. He's already spoken enough and was far from joking about dragging the idol onstage. The stark, humiliating memory the manager's small but strangely powerful fingers knotted in his jacket flashed in Wooyoung's mind at once, hauling him out of the changing room. He brushes the vision away immediately, scowling as he stands.

Making sure that the guitar doesn't hit against anything, he maneuvers his way through the maze of empty folding chairs to reach for the door's locked handle. He only hesitates for a moment before pushing open the door, immediately being confronted by stylists, managers, and security guards alike. Hands touched his hair, combing any stray strand into place or checking to see if the microphone attached to him was working correctly. Worried voices crowded the space as he tried to nudge his way through, holding his guitar closely to himself so that the mob wouldn't damage it.

God, he hated it. Beating down the thickening, growing nausea of claustrophobia, he tries his best not to smack away the hands of the assistants.

Thankfully, familiar fingers wrap around his arm and pull him forward, through the crowd of people and down the backstage hall. Only the concert center's security guards decide to pursue: two large, hulking men who were clearly suited for the job. Maybe it was because Hongjoong, who was tugging him towards the stage's entrance, shot daggers towards anyone else who stepped towards the idol.

"You did this to yourself." Hongjoong lets go of his arm at the entrance door, crossing his arms. "If you came out half an hour earlier, they wouldn't have swamped you like an angry mob of sasaengs."

"Sorry. I got distracted." The tone in his voice didn't come across as apologetic.

The disappointment in Hongjoong's face was ingrained in a way that only a few people could decipher, Wooyoung being one of them: from the subtle downturn of his lips to the narrowed eyes, it felt worse than any berating could have offered.

Hongjoong lets the muffled roar of the fans behind the stage platform fill the space before speaking, voice solemn. "This unprofessional behavior has to be put to an end, Wooyoung." 

"I know." He knew this lecture was coming, his voice hollow. Adjusting the microphone, he can't bring himself to look at Hongjoong, despite the manager's piercing gaze that seemed to pull anyone's attention towards him.

"Listen, it's the last stretch of the Asia tour. Go out with a bang and then you can be as moody as you want afterwards. Fans are paying to see you-"

Hongjoong stops himself short. Wooyoung had his earpiece in, already checking with the sound engineers at the venue; he might as well be talking to himself. And perhaps for good reason - the idol already knew that his performances didn't just include music and speakers. Even at his lowest, that godforsaken smile still needed to be kept on his face. He needed to remain the same loud, extroverted Jung Wooyoung for his fans - because that's what they always saw of him, and always expected.

So he lets the platform carry him up, the platform dimming, and lets himself get carried away in the roar of the crowd - all with a smile on his face.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

San had been visiting this cafe for a few years now - whether to sketch the various individuals sitting nearby him or just to have some solitary moments to himself. The soft jazz playing over the speakers was especially calming, saxophone and drum beats filling the interior with a casual atmosphere. Although the cafe was rather overlooked, occupying a small hole in the wall, its humble nature attracted a steady stream of customers who sought out that morning rush of caffeine daily.

His daily appearances did not go unnoticed. Park Seonghwa, one of the baristas working behind the counter, had taken a special interest in him within the first few months of his visits. Seonghwa was easily one of the more popular employees at the cafe, and it was strange how he sought out friendship with San, of all people. The artist was normally isolated in the corner, constantly wary of individuals that he couldn't distinguish from each other - so different from the confident, outspoken group of friends that he's seen Seonghwa associate with.

A tall, intimidating woman was currently speaking to him, round-rimmed glasses lowered to steal a few seductive glasses as she spoke. Seonghwa managed to glance over at him, the two sharing a knowing look before he turns towards the woman again. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and certainly not the last; the entire scenario was shared as a running, inside joke between them.

Thankfully Seonghwa managed to shake off the girl, who paid reluctantly and took her coffee with a rather disappointed look. The university student never seemed to pursue any of the weekly attempts towards romance, but was far from aromantic; to everyone, he was an attractive, young university student who was, unfortunately, not looking for anyone as of now.

And to San, Seonghwa was a friend, of course, but constantly toed the line between platonic and romantic conversation. Flirting was casually integrated into every conversation, sneaking between quick breaths and clever jokes... It felt like a rollercoaster, if San were to be honest, and that was likely what drew so many people towards him.

"What're you drawing?"

San looks up from his sketchpad, graphite point hovering hesitantly over the cream paper, and meets eyes with Seonghwa. His aura was always distinguishable - a casual, easygoing nature that he could spot miles away. The artist gives a small smile, folding the paper over the drawing so that the other wouldn't see.

"Just a few people in the cafe." The conversation always opened the same, but San never particularly minded. It was a symbol of their friendship, a casual reassurance was more comforting than Seonghwa realized. And they've had it more than a few times for San to internally monologue the baristas next response: 

"Maybe you're drawing me, then?"

San's smile grows at the flirtatious tone, shaking his head rather bashfully. He'd never shown Seonghwa his drawings, and surprisingly, both seemed to be fine with that. It was unlike them to force the other into action, which is likely why the two remained friends for months - all at an arm's length away.

Seonghwa sighs, taking a seat in the chair positioned from him. The familiar smell of freshly baked pastries and burnt coffee washes over him - a comforting and steadily soothing scent that grew on San as the weeks passed. "You never draw me... I'm starting to think we might not be such close friends after all, San." 

"That's far from the truth, and you know it." San never had the heart to tell him of the miserably failed drawings of the barista already existed. He managed to sketch everything about Seongha - his neatly ironed shirts, the layer of bangs that always fell over one of his eyes, even the fraying bracelet that was knotted on his wrist... But never his face. Just like everyone else in his sketches, all of them lacked the principal, defining characteristics that gave familiarity to a few, mere strokes of graphite on paper.

"Then draw me...! You always draw customers who come in, I see it from the counter. It's unfair, really." He ponders on this for a moment, thoughtful eyes gazing around the room. "Maybe I should get you free coffee, then."

San chokes back a laugh, fingers playing with his already cold americano. "You're bribing me?"

"Well, if you put it like _that-"_

The manager's shrill voice pierces through the serene atmosphere suddenly: a small but fiery woman, stepping outside from the kitchen to instantly locate and then send a piercing glare towards Seonghwa. Her mouth was downturned, giving her the slight impression of a Persian cat.

"Park Seonghwa, if you don't return the counter this _instant-"_

San chuckles at the pure terror in Seonghwa's eyes as the barista turns, giving the most charming, innocent smile regardless. "Sorry, Mrs. Joo. I'm-"

"You're gonna get minimum wage if you keep taking these 'breaks.'" Despite her rather stern exterior, there's a hint of humor underlying in her eyes - she was joking, after all. Seonghwa was her favorite employee. "Especially during morning rush hour, _no breaks._ Understand? _"_

San just smiles, making sure to stay out of it, as Seonghwa rises from his seat and bows apologetically. "Sorry San, I'll see you if you're still here in the afternoon."

He waves a farewell as the barista settles back into his spot at the counter, assisting the other employee who was very much struggling with delivering orders during Seonghwa's absence. The cafe atmosphere resumes for a few more peaceful moments, the quiet chatter filling inside the brick walls.

That is until the door opens, and a figure crosses inside. San freezes instantly, recognizing him at once - it was the man who he had met the previous day, the one who had knocked over his cans of soup. A slight bubble of panic rises from his chest as he takes in the familiar stride, the same dark hoodie and mask... 

As Jung Wooyoung himself steps inside the cafe to order his morning coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone, ren here. thanks for reading!
> 
> some disclaimers:  
> \- i do not "own" ateez or any of the characters mentioned.  
> \- please be respectful. this was made in good fun :)  
> \- party boy jackson is likely to make an appearance.  
> \- uploads will vary.
> 
> notes:  
> \- seonghwa, wooyoung, san are, at present, all 21. this age will not change unless stated otherwise.  
> \- prosopagnosia is a condition that i am not 100% confident writing about. i've done a lot of research on the topic so i can portray it accurately, but please let me know if there's a mistake and i'll try to correct it as soon as possible.  
> \- this is also published on wattpad. follow me @rendfern !
> 
> have a good day and stay safe ♥


End file.
